Counting Chances
by Le Neko-neko
Summary: But as he's waiting there, sitting on the stool and facing his painting, the devil on his shoulder stares, laughing that the one thing he can't get is what he needed.


**Le moi**: This time, my lovely Beta gave me this idea. :) This is also loosely based on an experience, the consequences of choosing something you'd rather leave it as is, and the hurdles to jump over. I fell for a friend once. And NO, it isn't Allen nor Lucas. Those freaks are my bros for life :3 I'd recommend listening to She (For Liz) by Parachute. Thank Kou-chan for this ^_^ This one, fortunately, is longer than fan fic number 1, which is Saying No the Wrong Man.

**Kingdom Hearts (c) Square Enix**

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"Seriously, keep still."

He almost fell off the stool he was sitting on at the snippy voice, a giggle following as he righted himself at his seat. Vanitas scowled at the offender while she merely stuck her tongue out, setting her paintbrush on the side of her head, blue paint dripping unto her beige knit sweater and hair.

"How much longer will I have to sit here, blondie?" He growled in annoyance, resisting the urge to turn his neck right and left. And his back felt numb.

"Oh come on, now. You're the one who volunteered to be my model for today." She rolled her eyes while approaching him, hands on her hips. "So, suffer in silence." She grinned.

Just, why oh why did she have to grin at him like that?

"Can't I take a break?" Vanitas groaned, not moving an inch from his seat as she stood in front of him and grabbed his face in her hands, angling it in a way that made his neck crick just a bit more and held his shoulders and set it straight. He could smell the paint on her, focusing his eyes somewhere else other than her face because he was going to blush. He knew it. And he never blushed. What kind of powers did this woman have? Witchcraft? …she bewitched him, seriously.

"No, not until I get your eyes right." She told him seriously. "I can't see them." She sighed.

"Then you're going to need glasses then." He placed his index and thumbs together and placed them on her eyes, making an impromptu glasses. "There."

Naminé giggled and pushed his hands off, "You know very well what I meant by that, Vanitash."

"Cut the nickname out already." He hissed. "It tears my manly pride by a lot."

"Sucks for you because I won't." She smirked smugly. "Hold still!"

"What's with you and your 'eyes are the windows to the soul' crap?"

The blonde whacked him with the back of her hand and glared at him.

"Hey, don't call that crap. They're true! The eyes are the one thing that betrays what you are currently expressing!" Oh boy, here it goes. "Like when you're trying to be mad but inside you're happy! One gesture may seem rude but when you LOOK," she suddenly zoomed in on him, big blue eyes staring into his own guarded ones, "You can SEE what they're thinking, and it turns out that the other person was just shy."

"Okay. So?" He blinked at her. "What do you see? What am I thinking?"

She never does have an answer. Naminé is good at reading people, but she never can read him. The many times he let her look into his eyes and looked—searched, but she always said she found nothing. She couldn't see past his defenses. He had worked hard for that.

"I don't see anything." She sighed. "Do you know how much it frustrates me that I can't just capture what you're thinking?" She groaned, letting her hands fall and run through her blue paint-dripped hair. "I can't possibly be an artist who can't capture their model's feelings. Look!" She spun her easel and displayed her half-drying work. "I can't feel anything. Only…indifference. And secrecy. Like you're trying to hide."

"I'm not." That's a lie. But she can't tell because that's what he's aiming for. He can't let her read him. He'd crumble at her feet. He'd lose her. And he can't accept that.

"I know!" She whined, sitting on the floor with a scowl. "So why?"

"I can see your underwear. Sit properly." He sighed, turning to the side. Why did she have the habit of wearing only oversized jackets or t-shirts with no shorts? If only she knew how much it affected him…but if she knew, then she did a pretty fine job hiding it. She has no problem with secrets, she knows how to keep them and she never felt the need to let them show—except only if she deemed that the time was right.

No.

She doesn't know.

There was no way she got past his defenses.

Right.

She can't even read him right now.

So that means she doesn't know. And that's for the best and he was determined to keep it that way. Even if it hurt.

Glancing at her, he sighed quietly and stood up, stretching and snapping his sore muscles. The satisfying cracks on his spine and hands and neck was relief. Naminé glanced up at him and glared.

"I told you can't move yet." He rolled his eyes at her and picked her up, making sure to keep her panties covered by the sweater and grumbled under his breath about whiny artists. "I heard that."

"It was MEANT to be heard, Naminé." He scowled. "You try sitting there. Give me a canvas and I'll paint you."

"You can paint?"

"No, I don't. I'm going to use it so I can write notes on it." He remarked sarcastically, and sat her down on the damned stool he was on 2 minutes earlier. "And don't move."

"Aye, aye." She rolled her eyes. "There are small canvases under the shelf—no not there idiot!—there!"

"This will do." He shrugged, and set the other canvas down, looking at it for a moment before propping his canvas on the easel. One glance at her, and he could already see her frustration and annoyance—which is because of him and the whole eyes thingy, yes, he knows—, her uncertainty and disappointment. Her actions were volumes—fidgety hands, shifty eyes and swinging legs. And she pouts. He dipped the brush into a mush of golden yellow paint. He didn't need a second look. He had a photographic memory. He could say it was one of the things he was quite proud of.

"Are you done yet?"

"Stop moving." He deadpanned, trying to cover up that he wasn't really looking at her.

"Well, are you done?"

"Don't touch it." He spun the canvas to her direction as she jumped off. "What do you see?"

"You have to teach me." She sighed. "I see a conflicted woman. Boo-hoo, and even more so right now."

"Maybe," he hummed as he circled her, "You aren't really looking?" He was asking for a death wish. "Why don't you try again?" Of course, Vanitas has no trouble with speaking what he wants, or trusting his instincts. But he was laying himself out in front of her. That maybe this is one that she should know. Naminé looked at him in confusion. He met her gaze solidly, baring his soul to her to see if she dared to go deep.

"Now, what do you see?"

She stared.

And stared.

And stared.

And shook her head. "Nothing."

Because why the hell would he let her in completely? It would ruin him. Moreover, he could lose her. He wanted to let her know but he CAN'T because of a fucking nuisance that he just can't get rid of. The one thing that always held him back and made him stay in the shadows. If only he wasn't—

Ding dong.

"Oh!" Naminé pulled the paintbrush out of her hair and grinned at him, "That should be Roxas."

Vanitas rolled his eyes at her and pushed her forward by the shoulders, ushering her to the door of her studio in her apartment. "Well? What are you waiting for? Don't keep your boyfie waiting."

"H-hey…" she blushed, "He's not my boyfriend or anything—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll be at your studio." He left then, giving her an encouraging pat on the head as he passed.

"Vanitas—"

"Don't take too long." He gave her a knowing smirk, seeing her blush and fidget with his look. "You might want to wear some shorts too, by the way, blue stripes."

The last thing he saw before he closed to door of her studio was her face totally red and her eyes wonderfully wide at his comment. Alone at last, Vanitas leaned against the door and tilted his head back, allowing it to make a quiet thump. Once, twice. He eyed the easel where the painting of her was, and sighed in annoyance, mumbling to himself that he should finish it. He also spied her own work, propped next to her box of acrylics and brushes. Without a word, he picked it up and stared at it, deciphering his expression and the emotions within it. He saw himself staring back. He indeed was hiding; it was the purpose of that look. The eyes conveyed that he was guarded, not letting her in completely in something akin to fear. She didn't know that though. Only he could read him. Although, she did try her best. He could also see that, given, as he set her work back and finished his own, his mind shutting the world out while he worked in silence.

He could hear their voices despite the thickness of the white double doors, Roxas telling her about his day and something about telling someone something? He scoffed. Let them be, he chided himself. He knew Naminé liked the other blonde, so that's why be prided on himself on pushing her towards the Hyde, playing the martyr and pretending it didn't faze him. No one even knew he felt something for the young woman. Well, he IS a reclusive person. He didn't like sharing his experiences when asked. He bullied them if they got too pushy. Naminé was one of them. The only thing that made her an exception, was when she actually got under his skin one day; waving off his teasing and bullying with her own.

She was impossible to be waved off and before he knew it, it happened.

He was her best friend. She was his best friend.

THEY WERE BEST FRIENDS. CAN YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVE THAT?

That's why he didn't want to tell her he liked her because he feared losing her. She was his first friend and years and he's not going to let that be wasted by some blasted confession that he liked her and would like to date her. No. He'd rather be her best friend than lose her in a relationship because of jealousy, misunderstanding, blah blah blah. Then what? Sure, at first, it's all rainbows and butterflies, but when you break up? All those years worth of friendship will go to waste because you got into a relationship. That was his situation. He was constantly torn and pulled in a million directions on which path to take. Friendship or relationship? Spend his life stuck on the infamous friendzone or detour towards the winding path to courting her? But as he's waiting there, sitting on the stool and facing his painting, the devil on his shoulder stares, laughing that the one thing he can't get is what he needed.

Fuck him. Fuck relationships. Fuck being so smitten.

"Vanitash!" The apple of this thoughts suddenly opened the double doors and pushed them back, looking properly angelic from the glow of the afternoon sun shining though her windows. He had to blink to make sure he wasn't seeing a halo above her head. Naminé smiled at him.

"What's up? Done mushying?" He grinned. She frowned at him and placed a hand on her hips. She didn't take his word since she was still shorts-less. Vanitas let out an exasperated sigh.

"Roxas is going to go now." She informed. Psh, like he cared. "Do you want to see him off?"

"Nah," Vanias yawned, turning his back to her as he approached her couch, waving a hand. "Tell him my goodbyes."

"Alright." She giggled, and then closed the doors, leaving him alone once more.

_Stop giggling, you're making me fall for you even more._ He inwardly snipped as he fell on the couch and turned so he faced the back of it, using a throw-pillow to cover the side of his face. _Hell, it's already worse as it is._ Staying quiet was one thing. But to love her and burn with it and manage to stay quiet about it was worse. She is the words that he can't find when he gets a rush of borrowed confidence before it promptly gets drained. Vanitas groaned. This whole dilemma was screwing him over. How can the only thing that's killing him make him feel so alive? This whole, bestfriend-or-boyfriend thing.

All of this would've been better if he didn't love her more than he was supposed to!

Now he's stuck on rut. Why couldn't he love Aqua—oh hell no, Terra would have his head—or Kairi—oh right Sora and her are together—or Xion—she isn't even interested in him—or Olette—Hayner and Pence would bug him for weeks—goddammit they all doesn't stand a chance against Naminé in his case. HE didn't stand a chance on her.

_Great job on letting yourself down, best friend._

He sulked further.

The doors opened. "Are you asleep?"

"Yes, so, leave me alone, Ney." He answered without turning. She snorted behind him.

"Yeah, could have fooled me."

"You're dumb then."

"Can we not talk about the blonde stereotype please?" She always does gets riled up when he brings it up. "Anyway, up with you. You're going to come with me around town today."

"What for, exactly?"

"Oh, uh," was that her faltering? Mmh, never mind. Must be his imagination. Naminé never stammers. "I was wondering if you'd like to be my escort for today."

Vanitas snorted and turned to her, smirking knowingly, "Aww, Roxy didn't invite you out on a date today?" His own words repulsed him.

Her cheeks colored. "It's not like that!"

"Alright, alright, I shall accompany the lady to wherever the hell she's going." He sat up and sighed. _The things I do for you._

"Really?" She grinned.

Please stop grinning.

"Yes, yes. Now go get changed or you won't be going anywhere." He sternly instructed, watching her nod obediently before running out of the studio, her sweater hitching up and giving him a view of her ass, leaving him alone once more. Vanitas scoffed at himself. All of his chances swim like sinking ships. He had no chance. He should really just accept that fact or endanger their friendship.

Lethargy had clung to his body the moment he got up. It was annoying. The painty-smell of her studio was replaced with a vaguely familiar smell of fresh spring air. The perfume he gave her on her 19th birthday. His eyes widened the slightest bit when she stepped out of her room. Why was she wearing that dress? The dress his mother gave her but the one he picked out? Is she doing this on purpose? Why? WHY?

"Are you sure you want to wear that?" He asked her quickly, eyebrows burrowing. She gave him a raised eyebrow in return.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" She gave him a small twirl and he had to bite back a pleased hum, because god, she was beautiful. "I haven't worn it for a long time." Naminé looked up at him and smiled. "Do you like it?"

What did she say? That he liked it? No. She got it all wrong. He didn't like it. He liked the _person_ wearing it.

"Vanitas?"

His hands felt annoyingly clammy. How come she's suddenly inches away from him? He didn't remember moving. Maybe she did? Yeah, quite possibly. Or not. Whatever. He felt that thing again; the rush of confidence. The borrowed kind. It wasn't his. Whom, though? Vanitas decided he didn't care enough to know.

"Hey, are you okay?"

_This time it's it. I'll drown or make her mine._

He opened his mouth. "Naminé,"

She met his gaze curiously, big blue eyes wide with curiosity and confusion. Then she had to place a hand on his forehead. Oh man, he was getting dizzy. She was too close he might just snap.

"Yes? C'mon, what is it? You're red." Yes, he knows that, thank you very much.

"I," This is it. He was going to do it. It was now or never. "Naminé, I—"

Roxas flashed into his mind.

Followed by the words "I'M HER BEST FRIEND".

And the possible scenarios where the negatives are overpowering.

And what he was doing right now.

That's it. The surge disappeared and he was back to square one. "Never mind. We—where are we going again?"

She eyed him, searching for anything she might find. Eye to eye. He blocked his thoughts as she did though. He was blocking her out. He was back with his tail between his legs. Finally, Naminé shrugged, giving him a smile.

"Okay then. Whatever you say, Vanitash." She linked arms with him and proceeded to drag him out, making sure to grab their coats and scarves on the way as she giggled at him.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

That's what he was. Maybe he was a martyr too? Or maybe a masochist. Or maybe both. Yeah. He was both. But they're generally the same. He wants to kill himself. His vocal chords have been fighting ever since he didn't say what he wanted to say. Maybe his mouth liked to spite him, since it never says the words that come to mind. He couldn't speak, nor breath to save his life. He's so pathetic. He liked Naminé too much it was dragging him insane. Why can't he just stop loving her so this will be all over with?

Right.

He'll never stop loving her. He didn't even know why he loved her in the first place. Does it normally work that way? …maybe.

Lo and behold Vanitas Fair at the lowest point of his pathetic existence. All because of a woman. Crazy, right? Yes.

This so-called human being would like to rot away and die in a hole, end quote.

He was fighting in a battle he deemed a losing one. Like he brought a stick in a gunfight. Now that's retarded, so never mind. He's not retarded, okay? Just insane. What the fuck is he saying in the first place? Naminé was going to be the death of him, seriously.

If Vanitas can't ramble outside because he's stuck with his tongue tied, then what you're reading for the past minutes are his thoughts. Talk about an invasion of one's privacy, yeah? Like anybody cared.

"We're here!"

Wait, what?

Vanitas looked around, seeing himself arm-in-arm with Naminé in front of Radiant Garden's castle-like gates, people coming and out in numbers. There were a lot of decorations and vendors and families—and dear god, couples—milling about, children running past them.

"What…?"

"Don't you remember? It's King Ansem the Wise's Memorial Day." At the tilt of his head, she frowned up at him. "You lived in this city far much longer than I did and you. Don't. Know?"

"No."

She stared blankly at him. Vanitas ruffled her hair and pulled her forward, leading the way because he was holding her hand and he felt a little high from being to do it. Because he only held her by her wrists or arm. Not the hand. No, never. Only this time. It felt foreign and it pleased him far too much than he was supposed to.

Nice move, Romeo. Where'd you get the guts to do it?

He liked to think this was a date.

Or just simply a typical friends' day-out or something in-between those lines.

Sulk. Suffer in silence.

Ignoring her fingers lacing around his own was incredibly difficult, especially when she scurried forward to walk beside him.

"Geez, why am I behind you in the first place…" She grumbled, fixing her scarf with her free hand.

"You're a slow-walker, that's why."

"Shut up." She scowled, before the corners of her mouth notched upwards, and she was grinning toothily at him. And like the smitten fool he was, only stared. "Anyway, let's go around! I heard Sora and Kairi also came here."

"It's no surprise." He hummed, turning away from her to stare forward. "Those two are always on a date. Just how did they stay together this long?"

"It's a couple thing, maybe?" He shrugged at her suggestion. "What about you?"

He felt like his heart just stopped.

"Huh?" Yeah, feign surprise, you bastard. You can't let her know. "Me?"

"Yes, you, stupid." They glared at each other for a second. "Aren't you planning to get a girlfriend soon? You know, so you could already settle down?"

**WARNING WARNING. INTRUDER IN DANGEROUS WATERS.**

"Well…" Vanitas glanced at her. "Aren't you one to talk?" She blushed. "See?"

"N-never mind, then."

Nice going, bro. You can run but you can't hide what's always there is.

They had spent most of the afternoon enjoying the festivities, not forgetting to pay their respect to the city's deceased king from long, long ago. The castle was open for everyone, allowing tourists or the city's citizens to wander around and take pictures of monumental statues and mementos. There was a small antique shop inside the castle by the entrance. In the lower parts of the castle, Ansem the Wise's study is found by navigating through a series of twisting and misleading corridors and hallways. Some say a secret door was inside the king's study, where a manufactory of warfare were made, but no one was allowed to enter that door. In the upper parts, basically at the highest, lied the Castle Chapel which can be accessed by using the Lift Stop through the High Tower. No one was allowed up there.

Which is crazy since he and Naminé are using the lift to the proclaimed chapel. He knew this castle like the back of his hand. His father was Zack, a descendant of Xehanort, the apprentice of Ansem the Wise, and all members in the Fair bloodline had the access to the castle due to the family's former connections to the king. But they still needed to sneak around though, because he was quite infamous in the castle.

To finish it off, he had a girl with him.

What could possibly go wrong?

One word: EVERYTHING.

"What else in this castle?" She excitedly asked, smiling, while the elevator continued to climb higher and higher.

"I told you, nothing more" He rolled his eyes, amused at her reaction. "You should feel special. You're the first person, other than me and my family, since the Battle of 1000 Heartless to enter the very innards of this castle."

"Of course." Her smile was different this time. "Thank you for showing me." And here goes her hand in his. Cue those annoying sparks in his skin.

"What are friends for?" He smirked a little. Heh, look at him, he was letting himself down. Spell P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C.

Finally, the lift stopped, and he stepped out first, holding her hand in his tightly since it was fairly dim in the hallways, and the entrance to the chapel was a little far-ways off. He didn't want to babble, and so does she, and it was a little awkward. And the knowledge was suffocating.

"Vanitas," she called, very quietly, he hummed in response. Naminé was silent for a few moments, "What were you going to say back then?"

Oh.

That.

Should he say it? That he loved her since 11th grade? That he was too sissy to confess back then because he was so scared to lose her friendship? That he hated Roxas to the very point of his existence for having her affections? That he wanted her to be his? That he chose to risk getting caught in the castle just so he could show her his family's prized ancestry and history? Her presence was making his words and thoughts jumble around his head wildly. Which was which?

"It's nothing important." Vanitas swallowed his stammer. His voice managed to sound fine, much to his relief. This proves just how she's the words he can't find.

_How can the only thing that's killing me make me feel so alive?_

Naminé was killing him.

Not literally. Metaphorically. She was making him mad.

"Really? It sounded…I don't know, important?" She insisted, squeezing his hand (and it made him feel all squishy inside) in thought.

"It's not, really." Because that was his supposed confession but he was too sissy and backed out from saying it. Slow clap for the effort, everyone?

_Maybe…this time it's it._ He thought to himself, scoffing mentally, and pushed open the castle chapel doors. Yeah, this is the time to get rejected and lose their status as best friends. _I still have to do it._ She deserves to know. _I'll drown or make her mine_. Yeah, that's right.

Screw her liking Roxas.

He liked her too. He met her first than Roxas. So it's right he liked her. Vanitas liked being first. He liked Naminé more. Naminé pulled him in, smiling brightly at him as the stained glass around them shone from the sun, creating an angelic glow around her form as she smiled at him, and their hands were intertwined and god-fricking-dammit, why was his heart beating abnormally like this? Many thoughts filled his head, mostly about the things he'd do, but never seem to follow through. Like, manning-up and fessing to her about his feelings. And somehow, she liked him too. Maybe. It's wishful thinking. But he can't help it.

_How can the only thing that's killing me make me feel so alive?_

Naminé was killing him.

Naminé makes him feel so alive.

It's messed up.

He couldn't speak. His heart was doing the speaking.

Naminé pulled him around the chapel, quietly giggling. He liked her laugh.

He couldn't breathe to save his life. Naminé was his life already. As cheesy as it may sound.

All of his chances swim like sinking ships. Maybe he had no chance on her, but she still deserved to know the he LOVED her, right? He loved Naminé. Too much. He doesn't show it, but he really does.

_This time it's it._

"Naminé,"

_I'll drown or make her mine._

Naminé turned to him, and he felt his own confidence dwindling but he struggled to speak and he clenched his fists. _Man up._ He looked up, staring straight into her eyes and finally baring himself to her, letting her in completely. She always had beautiful eyes. They were so big and bright, and he felt like he was staring into the deep blue oceans themselves. Everything that was Naminé was beautiful to him.

His chances were sinking. Or maybe it already sank from the start? Whatever it may be, he wanted her to know. _Say it, say it while you have the guts to do so._ He kept on chanting, desperate for some assurance. He was only confessing. How bad can it be?

This time it's it.

"Yes, Vanitas?" Even her voice was beautiful. He realized, now, that he was in too deep to ever go back. I don't think I'll ever want to go back, though. Vanitas was staying there whether she liked it or not.

_I'll drown or make her mine._

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**IT'S 3AM IN THE MORNING AND THIS STILL COUNTS OKAY. ... My god. Just what did I write? Did I give you a cliffy? :3 You want to read how Vanitas confessed? What's Naminé's reaction? Did she reject him or does she like him back?**

**Well, I think you need to scroll up and see that this isn't listed as "Complete".**


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